I’ve been to see the nags once. My other half is from Newmarket, ‘the home of horseracing’ (even our horse today is trained there) and we visited with a friend of hers, years ago. After seeing the same race 6 times (from the top of the hill to the bottom) we left without seeing the seventh. You’ve seen 6, you’ve seen ‘em all. Weirdly, Newmarket has 2 courses...and I learnt tonite that I was at the poor man’s course. ‘But how does the July course make money if it’s only used in July?’ ‘It isn’t.’
I learnt a lot tonite. Like, if your nag isn’t winning (our 2nd favourite came 5th of...7?), give it a couple more races then geld it. Whatthehell is ‘gelding’? If you don’t know, stay ignorant. Suffice to say, telling me you’ll cut my balls off if I don’t beat Usain Bolt won’t make me actually beat Usain Bolt. It might make me TRY harder, but how will a horse know?
As I said, we were in the owner’s enclosure, a hospitality suite on the 2nd or 3rd floor overlooking the course. Not that you can see the whole track. Half the course is the other side of the trees. I’m reminded of those big gigs where you can’t see the band on stage, so you watch them on a large screen. Still, there’s commentary, and, indoors, it’s not too obtrusive. Indeed, it’s so unobtrusive I don’t even know races are on, and tend to only see them as they’re coming past the winning post (on the screen, natch).
We go out for one race. THE race. This is both a disappointment and a boon. Boon in that I’d put horse racing up there (down there?) with Formula 1 and golf, but a disappointment as, actually, I’d have liked to see another race, especially one I’d no horse in (pun intended). The one I did see was with the other owners (‘other’...I can get used to that!) as our passes got us into the parade ring before a chat with the jockey. What’s his hopes? Tactics? I felt for him as the horse trailed in somewhere behind the leaders (lost by 20 lengths, I’m told later). Who else in their job has a post mortem for 15 minutes after they’ve put in a shift? I spared him my two’pennorth.
We had climbed back up the stand for the race. An early evening meet at Donny was sparse to say the least, but it didn’t stop any steward from demanding my pass. There’ll be no roaming for the hoi polloi round here. (Out of interest, do you think my pass will work again? They only glanced at it. Is it a different colour each meet?)
I asked if there was a dress code. ‘Smart casual’ I was told. Words that bring me out in cold shivers. Smart? Fine. Casual? I can do casual. But WTF is ‘smart casual’? I’m not one for wearing jackets over sensible trousers and pointy little shoes. Or dressing up as a Peaky Blinder. So I wore brown dress shoes, black jeans (owned for 20 years and worn perhaps 3 times), with a Liberty print shirt. Coat with a hole in. Well, it’s smart casual, innit? No-one mentioned the coat. Impeccable society. I enjoyed it! My favourite bit? I dunno, I wouldn’t want to upset anybody, but stroking the (losing) horse after the race and finding it lathered in sweat both pleased and surprised me. He was a magnificent beast, and the stablelad won 50 quid for best turned out horse. He was a beauty. Just don’t cut his knackers off. Please.
The Damage:
free ent
c.£30 round for 4
£8 taxi
£22 train
= c.£60
*despite the sweat, the horse ‘wasn’t even blowing’. He’d put no effort in when the jockey ‘went to make a challenge’ and so his future has been decided. He’ll be gelded before his next meet, poor thing.
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